All These Things That I've Done
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Everyone knows that Sherlock uses Molly's flat as a bolthole... but there's much more to it than that. He's been keeping his distance for some time, but after a great loss he comes to her again and of course because she's Molly she welcomes him with open arms. This will be a two shot. Minor Character death.*Now Complete*
1. Chapter 1

**Two things... Number one: This story was inspired by the Killers song by the same name basically because Molly's got soul but she's not a soldier. Also because that song rocks me so effing hard.**

**Number two: This story will be entirely from Molly's perspective (not POV.) A bit of a departure for me, I hope you all like it. It's a two shot.**

_****A huge thanks to my dear friend MrsMCrieff because she betaed and Brit-picked this story. She also had some amazing ideas. She is truly an inspiration, I'm lucky to have her.****_

**I own nothing-Enjoy- Remember there's more to come...  
**

* * *

_Molly was standing near the counter of a video store wearing a Star Fleet uniform (original series) waiting to pay for her movies (videos, not DVDs.) Evidently she was renting The Barkleys of Broadway and Beetlejuice. She was third in line behind her high school boyfriend and a couple she didn't recognize. The couple were being married by Master Yoda at the checkout. _Odd._ She heard someone calling out her name and turned to see who it was when she started to wake up..._

She rolled over in the bed and saw Sherlock standing in her doorway. He looked like a demon for a split second, completely back lit by her hallway light. She couldn't make out any features except the cut of his coat and his curls. When she turned her bedside light on, however she saw something she had the privilege or misfortune (depending on how you look at it,) of seeing a few times in her life. _Sherlock was feeling something. _

Sherlock had learned one night many years prior that Molly Hooper could keep a secret. He had always trusted her, but when he asked her to fake his death and help hide him from the rest of humanity, he learned just how far he could push that trust. So at times when he felt like his world was closing in on him or he was one bad decision away from visiting the friendly neighborhood heroin dealer, he would find himself at Molly's flat instead.

He popped round several times during his mission, mostly to get a few stitches, a hot shower and a meal. There were a couple of times he had no physical injury at all, it made Molly wonder, but she never asked, she simply took care of him. He came by frequently while he was 'dating' Janine before he finally gave into the temptation around him and felt the glorious euphoria of the drugs that had been calling to him for years (she really wished he had come to her that night.) Just being around the lifestyle once again must have been affecting him more than he was letting on. He never told Molly what he was doing, simply that he was undercover and she couldn't say a word about it. She had to piece it together later, after everything fell apart.

Then she slapped the shit out of him.

That was the _real_ reason for the slaps? He could have come to her, he always did. What _was _she if not the alternative to _that?_ But using again after dozens of trips to her flat? It invalidated everything she had done for him. The best part? He_ knew_ her engagement was over. He was there that night 'sleeping' when Tom exploded at finding another man where he should have been. _Ah, those slaps felt good and horrible and amazing and awful._

Then the bastard went and got himself shot!

_The worst night..._ the worst night for Molly had been the night before the Moriarty broadcast. He came by, he had this far off look in his eyes, a look that made her wish for that night in Barts so many years prior when he asked for her help. He never told her he was leaving; he just came in looking lost. So she made him tea and they sat on her busted sofa and watched TV until she fell asleep. She woke up the next day and found that he had gone, but this time he had left her a note.

_Molly,_

_ I'm sorry for all the hurt I've caused you and I dearly wish I could take it back. I'm also sorry you've had to be my safe haven all these years. Please take it as a compliment, no one else was strong enough to withstand my fury and weather my storms. You always were, and you had to do it in silence... all alone. You've been remarkable, truly. I couldn't repay you if I lived to be a hundred. _

_ There are many other things I deeply regret but this isn't the time or the place, just understand that your importance in my life has not been overlooked. Should you ever need anything, anything at all don't hesitate to call on Mycroft or my parents. _

_ Live well Molly Hooper. This world doesn't deserve you, and I certainly didn't either._

_Sherlock_

_PS... cash that damn cheque!_

The mini breakdown that Molly suffered after reading that note was nothing compared to what the rest of the week held for the pathologist. Several hours later a very much dead James Moriarty seemingly came back to life and turned her world upside down for the better part of eight days. The single bright spot on an otherwise harrowing experience was that Sherlock was back from whatever caused him to show up at her flat and leave her that wonderfully, awful note.

They never spoke of it. Not once.

As a matter of fact this was the first time he had shown up since that night. She had assumed that Sherlock was no longer in danger of slipping into old habits (even though she knew that danger never really goes away,) or he had found someone else to go to when he needed help.

Whatever the reason for his absence Molly, like always, smiled and went forward as if it was completely normal. Like saying those things to someone and then ignoring them for five months was an everyday thing to do. Oh, she still saw him at work; she helped with tests and went over autopsy results but nothing more. She wasn't his _safe harbour_ anymore, just his pathologist. And even though it hurt, Molly was quite experienced at being what Sherlock needed when he needed it. So she never brought it up and never once betrayed his trust.

A few people may have known that he used her flat as a bolt hole, but no one would know that Molly Hooper had been his safety net. That was a secret she'd take to her grave.

She couldn't help but think tonight seemed very different. Not only because he had been keeping his distance, but for the first time in their acquaintance Sherlock Holmes looked like a lost little boy. He stood there looking at Molly but not really focusing on anything at all.

She finally found her voice. "Sherlock, what's happened? What's wrong?"

He didn't speak for several minutes, just stared. Finally after what seemed to Molly like an eternity he said, "My mum's died."

Molly rose up onto her knees on the bed (without one thought to the fact that she was wearing a tank top and bright pink knickers) and covered her mouth as she gasped. Sherlock's eyes were still so unfocused she was starting to wonder about his sobriety.

"What...?" She started to ask what he needed when she realized that he would have no idea what he needed right at that moment. So she simply motioned for him to come to her, he finally looked at her face.

Slowly Sherlock made his way to the bed and stood in front of Molly where she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pushed his head down to rest on hers.

"I'm so sorry." Is all she said and they stayed that way until Molly pulled back and asked him to lay down. He did and she was shocked at how compliant he was being. That's when she realized he wasn't high, just in a state of shock. She moved to the end of the bed and removed his shoes then asked if she could take off his Belstaff and suit jacket. Sherlock nodded and she buzzed around him trying to make him comfortable. As she was hanging his coat on the back of her door his phone rang from the pocket, she pulled it out.

"That will be Mycroft and I don't care." He said facing away from her.

"Sherlock if you don't talk to him, he will assume the worst."

"Will you- will you just tell him I'm here and I'm fine? Not at all high."

Molly was shocked to say the least but she answered the phone.

"Hi Mycroft." - "Yes he's here, he's fine." - "No, not at all. I think I'd know." - "Well I don't think he's going anywhere for a while at least." - "Okay, I'll talk to him about it." - "Of course, oh and Mycroft I'm so sorry. Please give my love to your father." - "I promise I'll try, bye."

"I suppose you're to talk me into going to Surrey." He still wouldn't turn around.

"Well the British government just commanded it, so..."

"Screw Mycroft. Come lay with me... please."

Molly took a deep breath. This was the hard part and she knew it was coming. Because as much as Sherlock seemed to avoid physical contact (unless absolutely necessary and initiated by him,) when he was deeply emotional, he thrived on it.

It ripped Molly's insides into tiny little shreds.

She stopped grabbing her sleep pants first and slipping them on, then got into bed. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock shook his head. "Okay, fine. Can you sleep?" He shook his head again. "Do you want me to do the hair thing?" He nodded. "Come here."

Sherlock shifted over and lay his head on Molly's chest and she started carding her fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms around her torso. She took a deep cleansing breath and tried (as always) to steady her heartbeat since she knew he must be able to feel it.

"Mycroft's knows you're here." She said after about ten minutes.

"You don't think it was ever a secret do you?"

"I should call work and take tomorrow off. Hand me my phone." Molly said.

"I emailed Stamford and asked him for a week of bereavement for you. I need you to come with me to Surrey. I can't do this alone Molly." He tightened his grip on her.

Molly closed her eyes and felt tears gathering for the first time. She cleared her throat then said, "Of course Sherlock, whatever you need."

"I promise I won't ask for anything else after this. Just this one last thing and you can..." He didn't finish because what? She could what? He knew as well as she did she'd always be waiting for him to show up and need her, hell she lived for it.

"Don't Sherlock, you know I don't mind."

* * *

The trip to Surrey took much longer than it should have because Sherlock insisted on taking Molly dress shopping (apparently it wasn't appropriate to wear the dress she wore to his funeral.) So after staying awake half the night cuddling the broken hearted consulting detective,she went with him to Baker Street as he readied himself and packed. They picked up a rental car and headed to the poshest shop Molly had ever been to in her life.

Sherlock busied himself explaining that Molly was indeed a size eight not a ten and picking out clothes for her to try on. It was frankly one of the more mortifying experiences of her life. In the end they left with two new dresses (he couldn't decide and she would most likely need two anyway,) and three new tops (_that actually fit her..._ his words.) It had been an exhausting day and it was barely two pm. She was asleep almost as soon as they pulled away from the shop.

She awoke hearing her name and feeling something soft on her cheek.

"Molly, we're here." Sherlock was gently rubbing her face.

"Oh, yes, we are." She looked around. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay I kept you up all night." He said as he surveyed the house, then returned his attention to the groggy pathologist. "So are you ready?"

"I think so. Are you? Should we set up some kind of code in case it gets to be too much?"

Sherlock smiled for the first time in eighteen hours and mumbled _Vatican Cameos_ under his breath.

"What's that mean?" Molly asked.

"Nothing, you'll know. You always know Molly Hooper. Always."

As they walked toward the house Sherlock said, "It seems we've missed everyone. Mycroft and dad will be in town taking care of the arrangements. No one else has arrived yet."

They went inside and Sherlock proceeded straight upstairs. When he realized Molly wasn't following he stopped. "Are you coming? We should get settled before everyone else gets back."

"Of course." She followed.

He went down the hall to the room at the farthest end. "We'll be staying in my old room."

Molly's heart stopped. _What?_ "We? Is there not a guest room?" She asked from the doorway. Sleeping cuddled around an emotional Sherlock Holmes in the privacy of her flat was one thing, but here... here where the occupants would all be aware of their odd unnamed arrangement was very different.

"Yes, but Anthea will be using it." He said as if she should have known.

"Why would Mycroft's PA be staying at your parent's house?"

"She's our cousin. I thought you knew that."

"No, though it does explain some things." Molly said and finally moved into the room putting down her purse and bag of toiletries. "Sherlock, how will this look? Us bunking in together I mean?"

He looked at her, pulling his attention from his task of hanging their clothes in the wardrobe. "No one will question it Molly. Anthea doesn't care one way or another, Mycroft will be too busy sneaking off to visit Gerald to concern himself with us, and dad, well if he notices it would only serve to brighten what will certainly be the worst week of his life."

Molly was trying to wrap her brain around that sentence... "Gerald? Mycroft has a boyfriend?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Molly, for someone so intelligent you do seem to miss the obvious. Yes. He does."

"Oh, well that's nice. I can't wait to meet him."

"Meet him? You've known him for nearly seven years!"

Molly looked at Sherlock like he'd lost his mind, "Sherlock I don't know anyone named Gerald."

"Lestrade, Molly... Gerald Lestrade!"

"Oh my God! Greg's gay?" She exclaimed, much louder than intended.

"That's usually how these things seem to work." He went back to putting things away.

"He asked me out several times. I-I'm just a bit shocked."

"Well he seems to be an equal opportunity letch. I'll leave you to put away your... well your underthings. I'm going to make tea."

* * *

Molly put her things away and freshened up. Her hair needed a good brushing and she also touched up her face. After making her way downstairs she found Sherlock in the sitting room with two cups of tea.

"Thanks." She said sitting down next to him.

They sat in silence for ten minutes before Sherlock finally spoke. "I know you have questions Molly and I appreciate you not asking them." He wasn't looking at her; he was facing the unlit fireplace. "I don't know what shape my father will be in and... well Mycroft isn't exactly a fountain of emotional stability, so..."

Molly reached out and took his hand, "Sherlock, you don't have to explain anything to me. My offer was a blanket one with no exceptions and no explanations needed. I'm here just as long as you need me."

Sherlock was looking at her like he was about to deduce her when he picked up her hand and placed a gentle kiss to her palm. "They're back." He said never taking his eyes off of her. Then he got up and went towards the front of the house.

Molly let out a deep breath she didn't realize she had been holding. _Wonderful, a whole week of this and I may just spontaneously combust_, she thought as she finished her tea and let the Holmes say their hellos in private.

Molly's moment of peace didn't last long though.

"Miss Hooper. So good of you to come. And thank you for persuading Sherlock, that couldn't have been easy. As always, you are a great asset and I find myself once again in your debt." Mycroft Holmes said dripping with is usual patronizing tone.

Molly schooled herself, "I didn't have to persuade him Mycroft. He asked me to come with him and I was happy to accompany him." _Remember this man just lost his mum, don't punch him_.

Mycroft looked at Molly in complete disbelief. "Well, nevertheless your assistance is always appreciated. You've been able to deal with my little brother's idiosyncrasies in ways I fear even Dr. Watson would have failed. And for that I'm grateful."

She stared at the brother of the man she loved and didn't for a minute wonder how Sherlock ended up so emotional stunted. "Sherlock's my friend; I will always be there for him. He knows that."

"Of course, and Mummy was ever so fond of you she would have appreciated your presence as well."

Just then Sherlock walked into the room. "Oh please, Mycroft, Mummy was more _fond _of Molly than she was either of us." He walked over to stand between Molly and his brother. "Dad's laying down for a bit. Care for a walk?" He asked her.

"Sure." Molly said putting down her tea cup that she had been holding just to keep her hands busy and jumping at the chance to get away from Mycroft. "My jacket's upstairs."

"I'll get you one." Sherlock said as they walked toward the foyer. He grabbed one of his mum's jackets and draped it over Molly's shoulders then they went out the door.

They didn't really talk. Sherlock lit a cigarette and they walked for about fifteen minutes. Molly suspected this was more about escape than being alone with her. One doesn't spend time alone with Mycroft Holmes unless one has to. It made her wonder what Greg saw in the man. What did they talk about? Was he actually affectionate? Then she suddenly pictured Greg and Mycroft holding hands, which led her to imagining Mycroft making Greg use hand sanitizer first... this, unfortunately, led Molly to a sudden burst of laughter.

Sherlock stopped walking, "What on earth is so funny?"

Molly tried to compose herself. "Sorry, I-I... sorry. Completely inappropriate but... Greg and Mycroft? I-I just can't..." Her giggles started again. "Mycroft's so..." More giggles, "He's just so..." She doubled over and tried to stop herself.

Sherlock finally broke.

Molly didn't recognize the sound at first. Then she realized he was laughing. She straightened up to see Sherlock laughing harder than she was, wiping tears and trying to speak. Finally he composed himself enough to form words. "The word you looking for is evil Molly. It's like the Sheriff of Nottingham dating Robin Hood."

That caused another outbreak of laughter.

"Like Senator Palpatine and Han Solo." Molly said.

More laughter.

"Like Pol Pot and Gandhi" Sherlock said.

Molly stopped laughing, "Oh my God, that's so fucking awful," She cackled again. "I love it!" She grabbed his arm as she broke out in a new fit of giggles. Sherlock put his arm around her and laughed right along with her.

"Come along Molly, we should be getting back to Mein Führer."

Molly was too caught up in the moment to realize they were touching as they walked down the path. Only when their laughter died down and his arm dropped away did she realize it had even been there.

When they got back to the house they found Anthea buzzing around the kitchen setting up dinner that she had brought from a local restaurant. The group ate and made semi comfortable conversation; Sherlock's father barely spoke then retired shortly thereafter. Molly helped Anthea clean up the dishes, Mycroft wandered off to make some important phone calls and Sherlock went back outside for another smoke.

Everyone seemed to be taking care of themselves so Molly decided to have a quick shower since she was going to have to once again share a bed with Sherlock. She went upstairs and grabbed her toiletries.

Clean and dressed for bed and looking forward to having some time to herself to read alone in Sherlock's room, Molly made her way down the hall only to find the detective already there waiting for her. He was thumbing away on his phone.

"Oh, you're here. I, ah was going to read for a bit." She stammered.

Without looking up he said, "You can still do that Molly. I didn't feel like being followed around by Mycroft anymore, he keeps trying to start a fight. I'm not in the mood. He's grumpy; Lestrade's not coming until tomorrow, so..."

"Of course. Don't blame you there."

Thank heavens the bed was a double. Of course Molly had slept with Sherlock and she understood the need for a large bed even as an adolescent he must have been all arms and legs. He tended to sleep like his limbs weren't under his control. Then there was the tossing and turning. One would assume that since he slept so little that when he did it was like the dead, not in Molly's experience. It was a bit more like an amusement park ride. He had knocked her out of her own bed at least twice. She was not looking forward to this.

Molly retrieved her book and got into bed seemingly unnoticed by the detective. She managed to get through a half a chapter before he put his phone up and turned his light off.

"You ready?" She asked.

"You don't have to stop reading Molly." He turned away from her but Molly couldn't read anymore knowing Sherlock needed to get some sleep. She put her book away and turned off her light.

She lay on her back, wide awake. Normally when she couldn't sleep she'd read or play with Toby. She spared a moment to hope he was doing okay with her neighbour, he didn't adjust to change very well. Of course there were other things she did when she couldn't sleep but that was _completely_ out of the question since she was lying next to Sherlock and well... Molly took a deep breath trying to clear that thought out of her mind. Sherlock suddenly turned around.

"You can't sleep." He said. There was enough light in the room that she could see his otherworldly eyes and bed-hair.

"Yes, well no, different bed and all. I'll be fine. Get some rest Sherlock." She started to roll over away from him, looking at the man wasn't going to help the situation. Sherlock's hand was suddenly on her hip, holding her in place.

"Molly?"

"Oh, do you need the hair thing again?" She asked.

Sherlock just stared at her, his hand still holding her in place gripping her quite tightly. He shook his head. He moved his hand until he pushed her top up just a little and found a bit of skin, maybe an inch. He scooted a bit closer. Molly was completely frozen, this felt different than their other _soothing sessions._ There was no way she _could_ analyze it since she was having trouble breathing for heaven's sake, but it _was_ different. Not breaking contact with that inch of skin Sherlock moved his hand to Molly's back. Molly's skin broke out in goose flesh and a cold chill shuddered through her.

"You're cold." He said.

_Not really, _she thought. "Um, yeah."

"Come here, we need sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day Molly." He pulled her closer. She scooted over to him as he wrapped his arms around her and she practically melted into his chest. They sighed almost at the exact same time. Molly closed her eyes and suddenly realized she couldn't be more comfortable.

* * *

Molly woke to an empty bed the next day. A blush formed as she recalled the events of the previous night, falling asleep against Sherlock's chest had been wonderful if not completely confusing. He almost seemed to be comforting her for once. She had no idea what to make of it, but that wasn't exactly a new feeling for her, she often times felt confused by Sherlock's actions. She sat up and stretched just as the door opened and the man himself walked in carrying a coffee mug.

"I thought this might help." He handed it to her. "There will be visitors today, _family._" He said the word as if it were poison. "Also neighbours I suppose. I'm going to take a shower and get ready. Dad's feeling a bit better and he asked to see you when you've woken and feel up to a talk." He wasn't looking at her, going through a drawer pulling out socks and other clothes.

"Okay." Molly said.

He finished gathering his things and turned to leave. Molly reached for her phone to check the time and saw that she had several text messages.

**Have you heard from Sherlock? Don't know if you've heard, his mum died.-JW**

**Look if you hear from him just let me know, he says he's fine but I'm worried.-JW**

**Are you going to Surrey for the service, you can ride with us if you like?-JW**

**Never mind, Mycroft says you're in Surrey already. Why did Sherlock make you go with him?-JW**

Molly sighed. The third degree from John Watson wasn't what she was looking forward to this morning.

**I think he just wanted my support.-Mxx**

**Are you okay?-JW**

**Of course, I'm not the one that just lost their mum. Don't worry about me John, worry about Sherlock.-Mxx**

**I always worry about Sherlock, Molly. I'm just sorry he's dragged you into this. He has his whole family there though. It's not as if he's alone and we're coming tomorrow. -JW**

**You've met his family, I'll leave it at that.-Mxx**

**Fair point, see you tomorrow.-JW**

She made her way to the kitchen and found Anthea putting away breakfast. "Do you need some help with that?" Molly asked.

"Oh, no Dr. Hooper. Uncle Si is in his study, would you take this to him?" She handed Molly a fresh cup of tea.

"How are you doing Anthea?"

The woman looked up in surprise. "No one's asked me that. I-I'm fine." Molly could see the tears in Anthea's eyes.

"Are you sure?"

She cleared her throat, "Of course," She said looking away getting back to the dishes.

Molly sighed, "Is it the door off the sitting room?"

Anthea nodded her head.

It seemed emotional instability was some kind of a family trait. She found the open door to Mr. Holmes' study and gently knocked on the door frame. He appeared to be reading or at least looking at a book.

"Ah, Molly good of you to join me. I haven't really been myself since you arrived." He walked to the door and closed it behind her.

"This is for you." She said as she handed the tea over.

"Of course, courtesy of Thea I assume. She fusses." He put it on his desk and sat down in a high back chair next to it then he motioned for Molly to sit in one across from him.

"How are you feeling today Mr. Holmes?"

"Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to call me Si?" He chuckled, "I suppose not, well I'm... taking it a day at a time dear. But I wanted to see how you were faring?"

Molly was taken-a-back, "Me? I'm fine. I-I mean I cared a great deal for Mrs. Holmes but, it's Sherlock I'm concerned about. And you of course."

Mr. Holmes smiled, "Yes, I suspect you are." He leaned in, "You and I are in a very exclusive club. He doesn't confide in many people but he does us, doesn't he Molly. I know he comes to you."

She just stared, not sure how she was supposed to respond.

"I'm his father you know, he talks to me... occasionally. So, my original question, how are you doing?"

Molly took a deep breath, "I'm fine Mr. Holmes. I... Sherlock's never asked me for anything that I couldn't give him. I-I don't mind being here and if he needs me I'll stay. If that's what you're asking."

He smiled sadly, "I understand that after you helped Sherlock fake his death Mycroft gave you a rather large cheque. I also understand you never cashed that cheque."

Molly looked down at her hands trying desperately to understand where this conversation was going. "No, I didn't."

"Why?"

She looked up, "I helped Sherlock because he's my friend and I-I..." She realized her breath was laboured and she tried her best to control it. "Because I care for him. I care for all my friends Mr. Holmes."

"Of course you do Molly. You care a great deal for my son don't you? So much so that you allow him to use your home to hide out in when things are too hard for him. You comfort him when he just can't take it anymore. But at what cost Molly?" He looked down as if he was gathering his thoughts.

Molly was frozen, it's not as if she had known what to expect from this conversation, but it certainly wasn't this.

"I didn't intend to talk to you about this today, although I have been meaning to talk to you for a while. But after what happened, I-I realized time could be running out and... if I didn't, well..."

Molly shook herself, "Are-are you suggesting I give up on your son Mr. Holmes? Are you saying that I've been wasting my life?" She sounded a bit hysterical, but her control was slipping.

He looked at her with the eyes of a broken hearted man, something she could completely understand. "Dear, you seem to understand Sherlock better than most people, yet you hold on. I don't mean to be cruel, I don't, I just don't want you to wake up one day and realize you've not had a life because you were waiting to be needed."

Molly broke, she sobbed into her hands, Mr. Holmes leant forward to hold her. She thought he was crying as well. They were both completely broken. Finally Molly managed to get herself under control, cleaning her face with the handkerchief that had suddenly appeared in her hand.

"I understand what you're trying to tell me you know. I'm not completely stupid. You're right to assume that I understand Sherlock, but there is a problem. Even if I were to get my heart back, I don't know what shape it would be in at this point." She got up and walked to the door and let herself out only to run into Sherlock in the sitting room.

"Have have you been crying? Why?"

"Just had a bit of a cry with your dad. Your mum was a wonderful woman Sherlock. I'm going to take a walk, if you don't mind."

Molly practically ran out of the house. She walked and walked not really knowing where she was going, just trying to get away. She remembered seeing a bench, near a very small pond, the day before with Sherlock so she tried to find it again. When she came upon it she was almost surprised. Sitting down, she tried in vain to compose herself.

_What the hell did I think he was going to say? That Sherlock was secretly in love with me and all I had to do was hang in there... so completely pathetic Molly. Even his dad knows it._

It's not as if that's what Molly was hoping to get out of their situation. Most of the time she wished she could be strong enough to tell him to find someone else to turn to, but she knew trust wasn't something Sherlock took lightly and once given, if betrayed... she shuddered at the thought.

That thought caused another crying fit and feeling weak and suddenly worthless Molly lay down on the bench. The memory of the first time she met Sherlock's parents suddenly flashed into her mind.

_It was two days after they had had their day of crime solving. She had spent the entire morning cleaning her flat and was taking a break, having a mug of tea and thumbing through the latest copy of Journal of Clinical Pathology when she heard a knock on her door. Looking through the peep hole she saw an older couple arguing in her hallway. _Okay, strange.

_She opened the door, "Hi, can I help you?" _

"_He didn't call, did he?" The woman asked._

"_Sorry?"_

_The man cleared his throat, "I told you this would happen, Vi."_

"_Well I don't care. I wanted to meet her anyway. Violet and Siger Holmes. Sherlock was supposed to call you." The woman said extending her hand._

No freaking way._.. Molly was wearing her nastiest sweat pants and t-shirt and must have looked a fright._

"_I'm so sorry," Molly said taking Mrs. Holmes' hand. "Please come in. I-I was cleaning. I haven't checked my phone in a while, he may have called."_

_She showed them to the sofa, "Can I get you some tea, the kettle's just boiled." Molly prepared the tea and took it in. "Do you mind if I change really quick?" She scurried off to her bedroom. The first thing she did was check for missed calls or text messages from Sherlock... none... _bastard_... Fine but he was getting a phone call. He picked up on the first ring._

"_Molly."_

"_You're an arse."_

"_And hello to you too."_

"_Sherlock, why are you're parents in my sitting room?"_

"_It would have been rude to leave them in your hallway?"_

"_What am I supposed to do with them?"_

"_I don't care, but I have a case. Very important."_

"_Liar."_

"_What?" _

"_You answered your phone."_

"_..."_

"_Fine, but only because they seem lovely. God, the things I do for you Sherlock Holmes."_

"_It was inevitable, they want to thank you for helping fake my death. They would have tracked you down with or without my help and this way they are out of my hair. Don't keep them out too late and don't let mummy drink too much."_

_He rang off, and Molly changed her clothes and ran a brush through her hair. She joined Sherlock's parents they chatted and decided to go to a museum and have some dinner. She did end up having a wonderful day. _Damn him_._

From that point on Molly would receive weekly phone calls from Sherlock's mother. Mummy clearly had the wrong idea about her relationship with Sherlock. But Molly couldn't completely dash the woman's hopes (most likely because she shared them.) They took her out any time they were in London. She loved them dearly. _Oh, I miss her,_ Molly thought just as she drifted to sleep.

Molly woke once again to the sound of her name and something brushing against her cheek. It was Sherlock. She slowly opened her swollen eyes. He was crouched down in front of her looking at her with concerned eyes.

"I expect this from my homeless network, not my pathologist. Why are you sleeping outside, _on a bench _Molly?" He asked.

"I-I didn't mean to, I..." She stopped because Sherlock was still stroking her face and she couldn't find her words.

"Sit up for me?" He said taking her hand and helping her.

Sherlock sat down next to her and looked across the pond. Molly ran her hands over her face trying to wake up and get some sense of what was going on. She wondered if Sherlock had talked to his father or if he had just deduced why she was actually upset. She wrapped her arms around herself against the chill in the air then suddenly felt Sherlock's suit coat enveloping her. She looked up at him and smiled he nodded back.

"You weren't talking to dad about my mum, Molly." He finally said.

Molly closed her eyes. _No,no,no! Please don't!_ Molly's mind begged. But she didn't dare speak.

"And no, I didn't talk to him. I didn't have to." He kept his eyes on the pond. "I ask too much of you Molly. I take from you and never give back. Everyone else gets something from me. I saved John's family, I solve cases for Lestrade, and I'm the son that Mrs. Hudson never had. But you never ask for a thing. Why is that Molly?" He turned to look at her.

Molly couldn't meet his gaze, she stared straight ahead silent tears falling.

"Please, for once I'm honestly trying to understand. There's so much here I don't understand."

She took a deep breath and turned to him, he looked so sincere. It broke her heart even more. "Because I know you're giving me all you can, Sherlock. And it's okay."

She looked away quickly before she did something stupid like tell him she loved him, but Sherlock grabbed her face in both of his hands and turned her back to him.

"That's not all of it Molly, there's more..." Then the most remarkable thing happened, Sherlock Holmes kissed her. It was forceful and artless and very nearly painful but it was perfect and she kissed him back. Somehow, not knowing how it happened, Molly was suddenly straddling his lap and he was holding onto her like she was keeping him alive. Sherlock's jacket fell off her shoulders as he gripped Molly's hips hard urging her down onto his growing erection. He growled as he moved his mouth to her neck lavishing it with attention. Molly's hands were in his hair pulling and scraping his scalp in turn.

"Oh, God!" Molly gasped when Sherlock's hands found her breasts kneading them through her jumper. She ducked down and licked and kissed his neck causing him to buck up into her center pulling another cry from her throat.

Molly was grinding down and Sherlock was bucking up as they kissed and moaned into each other's mouths. The desperation of it all should have been disturbing and maybe if she had time to think about it, it would have been. It wasn't enough, not nearly. Molly moved her hand over the bulge in Sherlock's pants.

"Oh, fuck Molly!"

He suddenly stopped, Molly froze. She jerked her hand back like she had touched fire. Everything had happened so fast she couldn't process _that_ it was happening let alone _why_ it was happening... now she felt like she needed to get away, far and fast. She tried to get up but his grip was tight.

"No!" He growled. His breathing was still erratic but was starting to calm down. "That's not why I stopped." He swallowed. "I stopped because I-I..." He looked at her pleadingly.

Then she realized what he was trying to say. "Oh, I th-thought you..."

"I know what you thought Molly. And I don't regret what just transpired. I just have to, ah cool down a bit. We are outside, on a bench at my parent's cottage, attending the funeral of my mother, after all. I shouldn't have gotten so... carried away."

"I should get up." Molly said trying once again to disentangle herself from Sherlock's lap, but he held on tight.

"Logically I know that's for the best, however, I prefer you right where you are." He looked at her with bright lust-filled eyes.

Molly giggled, "Things won't improve until I get up Sherlock."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right." He kissed her again, this time with more finesse, then finally let go of her hips. "I presume you will want to talk about how this will change the dynamic of our relationship."

Molly straightened her clothes and finger-combed her hair. She studied him for a moment then answered, "No."

Sherlock looked at her in shock, "Sorry?"

"I said no, not right now at least. I assume there will be family to receive and your father will need you, we've been gone far too long as it is. We can talk later, I'm sure." She smiled.

"Not what I was expecting."

"Come on, I never got any breakfast. I'm starving. You might want to do something with you hair. Looks like you've been snogging." She giggled.

"I have been snogging." He laughed as they walked down the path.

* * *

**_Don't worry, there is a part two..._**

**_So, funny thing... the dream in the beginning of the story is a dream I had literally twenty years ago. I have no idea why I've remembered it all these years later, however I thought I should use if it emblazoned itself in my mind so well. I didn't embellish, those were the movies I was renting, Yoda was performing a wedding ceremony, it was an odd one._**


	2. Part 2

_Here's part two. Thank you all who followed and favorited this story and for the reviews. Of course I can't thank the lovely MrsMCrieff enough, my Beta, my Brit-picker, my hand-holder and most importantly my friend. As much as I enjoy writing, it's the friendships that I've made that make this endeavor so much more enjoyable. _

_I own nothing-hope you enjoy this._

* * *

Molly Hooper wasn't the naïve school girl everyone made her out to be. She understood human nature and emotions. She had been working at St. Bartholomews for seven years and had seen people mourn and grieve. She also had her own personal relationship with death, having buried both her parents. Most importantly, Molly was a bit of an expert on Sherlock Holmes. So she had no delusion that what happened by the pond was some great realization of deeply hidden love for her. The man was grieving his mother, he was _feeling things_ and was extremely emotional. He, of course didn't have any healthy coping mechanisms for dealing with his emotions. So he once again used her, this time he felt like a teenage make-out session would do the trick. Although she was sure he wasn't at all aware of it on a conscience level. No, simply channeling it somewhere.

She was like a lightning rod for his emotions. Now if she could only manage not to get burnt to a crisp.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed, thinking. She, of course, _had not_ been thinking when she let things escalate so quickly. Though she tried not to be too hard on herself, all those years of attraction and well, love... then he's suddenly attacking her lips and all the other wonderful bits. Yes, she'd just have to be better at controlling the situation if it happened again. He's lost his mother and was emotional vulnerable. She couldn't let him do something he'd regret.

This could turn out to be the hardest week of her life.

Defusing the situation with humour and pretending that she wasn't affected was the only way to safely extract herself for the moment. Fortunately, Sherlock was so detracted by the event he hadn't noticed her deception.

The door to the bedroom opened shaking Molly from her thoughts as Sherlock burst in. "Okay, remember that sign we talked about? This is it. You've been up here for an hour. Do you have any idea how many people I've had to hug?" She shook her head. "Twelve point five!"

Molly gave him a look.

"One was a small child, hence the point five. Budge!" He motioned for her to move over on the bed and he sat down. "There's enough food down there to feed the entire British Navy! Why do people do that, bring food to grieving families?"

"Oh, well two reasons I suppose. So that no one has to worry about preparing meals for a while and also because well... food is comforting. You've heard of comfort foods I assume."

"_Food is comforting?_" Sherlock said as if it were the most preposterous thing he'd ever heard. "Food is fuel. I've never understood the idea that one could find comfort in the consumption of food." He was looking off as if he were pondering the subject.

"I should make you my dad's shepherd's pie, it always made me feel better when everything went to shit." Molly said.

Sherlock turned his attention back to her. "I find _you _comforting Molly."

_Oh no!_

She smiled and started to get up but Sherlock placed a hand on her hip. "Sherlock, remember what you said earlier. Half of your family is downstairs."

His eyes were drawing her in though and he wasn't giving up just yet. "Molly, this morning was fascinating." He ran his fingers through her hair giving Molly cold chills. "I wonder..."

Suddenly she was flat on her back pinned under the detective. This time wasn't rushed and frantic. He leaned up on one arm and cradled her cheek in his other hand gently taking her lips in his. Molly whimpered as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

As much as she tried Molly couldn't keep her hands off the poor grieving man. One hand was in his hair and the other was digging into his back. Sherlock sat up shucking his suit jacket, Molly tried to shake some sense into herself but he was back on her too quickly. He attached himself to her neck and she wondered for a moment if she had brought any scarves though she knew she hadn't.

"Molly you taste so good... I think I'm starting to understand the notion of comfort food." He leant back and started pulling off her jumper.

Molly was panicking, this had to stop. "Sherlock, your family!"

"They've got plenty to eat!" He worked on removing the unwanted garment, "This has to go!" Finally he managed to tug it over her head. "Oh yes..." He pushed one bra cup to the side and latched onto a nipple and moaned.

Molly knew she was lost, lost in the feel of Sherlock devouring her breasts, lost in his pure joy of the act and lost in her own ecstasy. Of all the things she'd had to endure for this man at least she would have this before her heart broke entirely.

_No wait... Sherlock! He doesn't want this... he's just grieving... I have to stop him!_

"So sorry about what I said, your breasts are perfect Molly. Mmm, lovely!" He said just before diving back in for another mouthful.

"Oh God! Sherlock... Maybe... ahhhh... we should go back downstairs." She tried feebly to extract his head from her chest.

"Are you kidding me?" He finally looked up. "Hmm? Your lovely breasts or my retched family? No competition Molly. Besides, there's something else I'd like to taste."

_NO! Molly Hooper... do not let Sherlock Holmes go down on you in his childhood bed, with his entire family downstairs, while mourning the death of his mother. Stop this, stop this right now!_

"Um, remember when I said I didn't want to talk about this... I changed my mind." Molly rushed out as Sherlock unbuttoned her jeans.

"Not now Molly!"

"Shouldn't we talk, a bit Sherlock? I mean..." Then once again her words floated away because he was nipping and sucking her hip bone and rubbing her through her soaked knickers.

"Look at you," He jerked her jeans off completely, "So wet." Planting opened mouthed kissed just above her pants. He pushed them aside and brushed his thumb over her clit and Molly bucked up biting down on the heal of her hand. "Oh, you are so sensitive." He hooked this thumbs in her knickers and yanked them down tossing them across the room. Molly looked down at Sherlock, he was smiling, truly smiling and for a second she felt like it would all be worth it just to see him so happy in this moment before all the pain he would have to face.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Molly's thighs and opened her wider as his tongue did things that no other lover had come close to doing for her. He stroked her belly and hummed his appreciation as she bit harder to keep from crying out. He must have known how close she was because she suddenly felt first one then two fingers in her opening. He looked up once again. "Amazing Molly, you taste better than I imagined... let go... it's okay. Just let go for me." Then he was on her again sucking on her tiny bundle of nerves and pumping into her... and oh did she let go!

"Oh, fuck Sherlock that's perfect. You're perfect. Yes... God! Ahhhhhhhh!"

He wasn't gentle, he pounded his fingers into her through her orgasm. Molly finally relaxed and he withdrew. Molly watched him licking his fingers clean as he lay down next to her, she started regaining her breath.

Molly's mind was awash with chemicals. She tried to form rational thought, but nothing came... she was floating. She looked up to see Sherlock watching her curiously. "What?" She managed.

He shook his head. "Nothing." He laid his head on her chest, Molly instinctively started running her fingers through his hair. She fell asleep after a few minutes.

* * *

Molly woke up about an hour later Sherlock was getting dressed, evidently he had taken another shower. He was just pulling on his trousers. She sat up and realized she was still only wearing her bra.

"Can you hand me my dressing gown?" She asked as he turned around.

He handed her his instead (well it was closer.) She slipped it on and started picking up all her discarded clothing.

"John and Mary are here." He said as he buttoned up a dark blue shirt.

"I thought they weren't coming until tomorrow."

"Well evidently John was concerned that I wasn't answering any of his texts. You'd think now that he has his own family he'd find something other than me to fuss over."

"He loves you Sherlock, he worries."

A beat passed. "Aren't you going to get dressed?"

Molly looked around. "I was waiting for you to leave."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "For heaven's sake Molly! I think we've surpassed modesty have we not?" He rolled his eyes then leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you downstairs."

Molly shook her head and got dressed. _Damn it! What am I going to do with that? _She thought looking in the mirror at the impressive love bite on her neck. The ones on her clavicle were easily hidden but the one on her neck was fairly obvious. She had enough experience with bruises to know make-up would only make it worse. She sent a text to Sherlock asking where his scarf was and could she use it. He said no and to hurry... there were people there and they were annoying him. Molly brushed her hair to one side, it seemed to cover it for the most part so she opened the door to join Sherlock. John Watson was coming out of the loo.

"Hey!" He grabbed her and hugged her.

"Hi John."

"Did you just come out of Sherlock's room?" He asked.

"Ah, yeah. Limited space. Anthea's in the spare. Did you know she's their cousin?"

"I only found that out about six months ago. Makes sense though. I assumed you'd be at the B&amp;B with us."

"No, staying here. But you know, it's Sherlock so...it's not like..." She shrugged trying to seem indifferent, but afraid she was failing miserably.

"Right, right. But Molly, I mean you... are you okay?" He asked.

"You asked me that already John. I'm fine. Sherlock needs us right now, come on lets go before he makes someone cry." She laughed.

When they got downstairs Molly was introduced to several family members... _This is Dr. Molly Hooper, my pathologist._ No one seemed to find it the least bit odd that Sherlock's pathologist was in attendance at his mother's funeral. His family must have been accustomed to his eccentric ways. Sherlock was clearly on edge but John's presence seemed to help, they were talking quite a bit. If she were honest Molly felt a bit relieved to have some back-up. She made her way over to Mary and baby Ella.

"Look at this beautiful girl." Molly said as she sat down next to the pair.

"Thanks, and isn't my daughter a cutie too!" Mary laughed. "So how's he doing, really?"

Molly thought for a moment hoping she wasn't blushing. "Better than I would have thought. He's Sherlock of course, so he does everything in his own special way. But I think he's doing pretty well, so far."

"How horrible has it been, staying here?" Mary asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well three Holmes men in one house, especially under these circumstances."

"Not bad. They miss her and tomorrow will be difficult but I'm just glad I could be here for Sherlock."

"Hmm, John says you're bunking with him. Is that a good idea Molly?"

Molly took deep breath, "Why is everyone so concerned about me? I didn't just lose my mother, I'm fine." She said a bit more harshly than she intended. "Sorry Mary. That was... sorry. Can I hold her?"

"Of course." Mary handed baby Ella over and Molly raked her hair back over her shoulder to get it out of the way. That's when Mary noticed the bite mark on Molly's neck. Molly saw the recognition in Mary's eyes.

"Please Mary. Don't." Molly said. "It's nothing. Please."

"Molly, if you don't want to talk about it I understand. But I think..."

"I'm well aware what everyone thinks. I've had quite enough of everyone's opinions. I'm a grown woman and I can take care of myself." She handed Ella back to Mary. "I think I'm going to get a little air if you don't mind."

Molly went through the kitchen and out into the back garden. She just wanted to help her friend, she didn't want all of this. As much as she loved Sherlock she didn't want him this way, and she certainly didn't want everyone's pity. She wandered around for a few moments wishing she smoked, it seemed like it might take the edge off of everything right now.

She was stuck, it's not is if she could stay out there all night. She had to go back inside at some point. But between Sherlock's hands, his father's words and everyone's pity Molly was just about at her breaking point. _I should go home. John's here now. He can handle this, Sherlock will be fine now. _She could escape and get away from everything and back to Toby and her flat where no one was looking at her with sad eyes or trying to kiss the life out of her. _Good. _Now to explain to Sherlock.

She sent him a text. Five minutes later he found her in the back garden.

"What's going on Molly?" He asked carrying two glasses of scotch.

"Thanks." She grabbed one and took a large drink. "Shit, that's good."

"What do mean_ John's here, I should go_? Why would you go?" He asked.

Molly took another drink of the excellent scotch. "Well, John's here now and he's your best friend. You don't really need me anymore. So..."

Sherlock put his arm on the small of Molly's back and walked her over to a wooden bench where they sat down. "Molly, if I had wanted John Watson to come with me I would have asked him. I didn't, I wanted you. I still want you, I need you here. Why do you suddenly want to leave? What happened?" He said with an edge to his voice.

Molly looked to the house and then back to Sherlock. "Nothing, it's just I-I... I don't... I'm trying to be here for you but I-I'm..."

"You're afraid I'm just using you because I'm confused over the loss of my mother. And you're afraid that I'll regret what's transpired once this is all over. You're terrified that I will once again toss you aside. That's what you think isn't it Molly? Someone said something to you though? Who was it? Mycroft? Seems most likely, he's an ass Molly you can't let him bother you."

"It was your dad Sherlock!" She shouted as she stood up. "He told me not to waste my life waiting on you. That's why I was crying today and then you-you... kissed me and touched me! What the fuck? I know you're hurting and I know that's why you did it. I know and I can take it but I can't take the pity and the looks. Mary saw this." She pointed to her neck. "Now everyone will know, they'll know that I'm just your pin cushion. But that's all I've ever been. Just a soft place to land."

She turned her back and braced herself before turning back to him. "You said I never asked for anything, please I'm begging! This, this is what I'm asking for, can I have this little bit of pride please? I'm sorry, I failed this time, but it hurts so much knowing that you only need me when you're at your worst. Because I need you all the time but can never really have you. God, I've tried so hard but you take everything. I'm so sorry Sherlock, I've nothing left to give." She sobbed.

Sherlock looked as though he'd been punched in the gut. She knew her timing was absolutely horrible, maybe the scotch had gone right to her head or maybe she had just been pushed too far.

"If that's how you feel," His voice broke, "I will see to it you're safely transported back to London."

Molly turned and ran into the house. She pushed past John and past people she didn't know, people she just met and ran up the stairs. She started throwing her clothes into her bags haphazardly, crying so hard she could hardly breathe.

She had done it. He would never trust her again. What little she had was gone, she had made sure of that. Well, at least she could go home and try to put some distance between the pitiful looks and words of warning. Maybe she should move. Yes, she'd have to get a new job and move away, it would be for the best. She sat down on the bed and tried to collect herself.

About five minutes later Anthea burst into the room, "Dr. Hooper you'd better hurry!"

"What's wrong?"

"Just hurry!"

Molly followed her back downstairs and out the back door where several people were holding a bleeding Sherlock and an equally bloody John Watson away from each other.

Greg Lestrade was standing between them shouting. "...won't be the first time I've had to arrest the two of you and I'm guessing it won't be the last. Now just calm down."

Mary was looking at John's face and whispering angrily at him. Molly slowly walked over to Sherlock. "What the hell happened? I was only gone for ten minutes." He jerked away from Mycroft and another man (a cousin maybe?)

Sherlock didn't speak he just glared at her. Mycroft spoke up. "Perhaps we should all go back inside and have some nice calming tea." He turned to Sherlock, "I believe there is a conversation to be had here. I suggest you start with Dr. Hooper. I'll talk to dad. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm Sherlock."

The crowd dissipated leaving Molly and Sherlock alone.

"Are you going to tell me why you and John were fist fighting?" Molly asked as she took his handkerchief from him and cleaned his busted nose. "How many times does he have to break your nose before you stop pissing him off?"

Sherlock was silent.

"What happened?"

He took a deep breath. "After you ran off John came looking for me, he saw you crying. He must have spoken to Mary. He put everything together. He accused me of _using _you, of _hurting_ you." He spit the words out like bile. "I may have punched him at that point. Then as we were fighting I said some disparaging things about my father." He looked a bit confused and even contrite, "I guess, I'm a bit angry at him for what he said to you. I thought Mycroft was going to punch me at that point, maybe even Lestrade." He looked around, "And my uncle Tim, that would have been interesting, he was a prize fighter in his younger days."

Molly looked up at him, "I basically said the same thing, you didn't punch me."

Sherlock shook his head. "Fucking hell Molly, I never mean to hurt you." He took another deep breath. "I swear I don't. I can't help it. I come to you because you make everything better. I tried telling you in that note. I wanted to tell you but I didn't know how, and what good would have it done, where I was going. There aren't words for how much you mean to me." He put his hands on either side of her face. "When I came back, after the exile. I was so empty. I needed you more than ever. But I stayed away, for you. I know what I did Molly, I know I caused Tom to leave. I always seem to hurt you." He turned his back and paced.

Finally he turned back to her. "This time, I knew... I knew if I didn't come to you I'd do something you'd never be able to forgive, so I came back and it was just so perfect, you were just so perfect and God I missed you. I know I shouldn't have kissed you but I've been resisting that temptation for so long and it suddenly made sense, that that was what was missing and I wanted to give you more." He paced away once again.

He whipped back to her, "But you shouldn't let me near you. That's what dad was talking about. I told him once that I wouldn't ever be with you because I couldn't ever be what you needed. Not because I didn't want to Molly, God knows it's not because didn't want to.

"Tonight, tonight my greatest fear was realized. You ran. You ran from me like I was poison."

Tears were falling down her face. "This isn't fair Sherlock. I have no idea what's real and what's pain over your mum."

Sherlock threw his hands in the air and walked over to the bench. He picked up the scotch and drained it. "I _am_ sad Molly. I loved my mother and I miss her terribly but that has nothing to do with what I just said to you. Maybe it's left me raw enough to express it but, damn it, this is how I feel. You of all people have to know I have feelings. Is it so impossible to believe that I have them for you? My savior, my peace... my heart."

Molly's mind seemed to take a moment to fully process and understand what he had just said before she rushed to him grabbing his shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. They kissed until their noses bumped.

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

"It's okay."

Then they were kissing once more before Sherlock moved to Molly's neck.

"Sherlock, I need, ahhh, I need to see to your nose."

"Nose is fine."

"Yes, well we're outside once again. Maybe we should go in and get you cleaned up."

He carefully sat her back down on her feet. "Good idea." He grabbed her hand and led her inside. John and Mary were at the kitchen table, Mary putting a plaster over John's eyebrow.

"John."

"Sherlock." John looked down and saw Molly and Sherlock's hands. "So... You two kids figure everything out?"

Molly cut her eyes between the men.

"Yes, well... Molly's just going to take care of my nose." Sherlock said as they made their way around the table.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" John said, Mary giggled.

They made their way to the bathroom where Molly sat Sherlock down on the edge of the bathtub and cleaned him with a warm wet flannel. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really. Though it does remind me of all the times you put me back together while I was dead. I think I started having a Pavlovian response to injuries, knowing if I got hurt badly enough I'd have to come home to you."

Molly stopped what she was doing and looked into Sherlock's eyes. "You said home."

Sherlock nodded his head. "Home Molly, wherever you are." He smiled warmly.

"Damn it Sherlock, I am not used to you saying things like that. It's freaking me out." She kissed him again then continued cleaning his face. "You need a fresh shirt, that one's ruined." They made their way to his room and Molly picked out a shirt for him to change into.

Back downstairs, apologies were made, many apologies. Mostly at Molly's request but Sherlock complied nevertheless. All of the extended family had gone and the Holmes men were settled in Si's study when John found Molly and asked if he could talk to her in private. She agreed although she panicked at the possibility of one of _those _conversations.

"I'm sorry Molly," John said as he sat down next to her at the kitchen table.

"It's fine John. I've hit him myself before now, I'm fairly sure it won't be the last time for either of us."

John laughed, "No, I mean-I've apologized to Sherlock for not seeing what he felt for you, although in my defense he did hide it well. But, I'm his best friend, I should have realized. And maybe if I hadn't been so wrapped up in my life and new family then maybe I would have and I could have helped him with this whole thing. Maybe it wouldn't have taken Vi's passing to..." He cleared his throat, "I'm just sorry Molly, it seems so obvious now. I'm very happy he has someone and even happier that it's you." He smiled brightly.

"John, none of that was necessary. But thank you. I really don't know exactly what we are; we've barely talked about it."

"Molly he punched me, his best friend, because I said he hurt you. I'd say it's pretty clear. But you're right, you two need to talk."

"Well, that can wait John. I've waited years for Sherlock, right now I need to help bury his mum then we'll see." She patted John's arm and got up to make tea.

John followed behind her, "Molly Hooper. You are remarkable, did you know that?" He put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her forehead. "He doesn't deserve you, but I'm sure as hell glad he's got you." Then he went off to find his wife.

Molly finished the tea, took some to Mary and John, told them goodnight and went up to take a shower.

When she was finished she once again found a certain consulting detective waiting in his bed.

"Do you have a sixth sense about when I'm getting out of the shower?" She asked as she fished her lotion out of her bag.

"Actually I was quite disappointed to find this bed bereft of my pathologist when I came in. However, bathing is a valid enough reason to keep me waiting." He pulled back the duvet and she crawled in.

"How's your father?" Molly asked as she rubbed lotion in her hands and arms.

"Not looking forward to tomorrow, but then again neither am I." He looked away, "I suppose it's to be expected."

Molly scooted closer and laid her head on his shoulder. "Sherlock, you know everyone grieves differently. There's no wrong way or right way."

He didn't respond.

"Tomorrow's going to be difficult, but you really have to let yourself experience this."

"How do you mean?" He moved back and looked down at her.

She took a moment considering her words. "I know you Sherlock. Your instinct will be to push aside your feelings of loss and bury yourself in your work. But pain has a way of catching up with you, whether you want it to or not."

"You were still at university when you lost your father? You tried to forget about him by concentrating on school." It wasn't a question, it never was with him. When he made a deduction, it was just that.

Molly sat up. "That's why I finished a year early." She looked down at her lap. "I thought I was honoring him by working harder to get through school." She looked back up with tears in her eyes, "It nearly killed me Sherlock. Finally, I went to stay with my Aunt Evelyn for a summer, she took care of me, made me eat, sleep, let me cry. I was better by the time I got back to school but I shouldn't have ever let things get so bad." She smiled sadly, "I was just a kid with hardly any family and only a few friends. No one noticed me fading away." Sherlock put his hand on her hip. "No, I'm fine now, really. I miss him, I do. But I'm stronger for what I went through and now I know how to help people grieve. Please Sherlock, trust me. I know you're hurting. For once if you feel something, just feel it."

He looked at her and nodded then pulled her in for a closed mouth kiss. He never deepened it, just held her there for several moments. Then moved her so she was lying on his chest.

"Thank you for that Molly, and for being here with me. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."

She didn't respond, just sighed contentedly as they drifted to sleep.

* * *

The morning of the service Sherlock and Molly got ready. Sherlock helped Molly choose which dress to wear and Molly helped him with his tie that he begrudgingly wore. There was little conversation beyond that. Breakfast was much of the same. She saw Greg at the table, evidently he had stayed over. He gave her a look that Molly interpreted as, _look at our sad boys._

The church service was lovely, of course. Everyone sang the praises of the wife of Siger Holmes, the mother of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes two of the country's finest minds. She was an outstanding mathematician, a homemaker, and a friend to many. She was loved by all who knew her, many tears were shed. Sherlock held Molly's hand tightly throughout.

At the graveside Molly noticed Greg's arm protectively around Mycroft's shoulder as the final words were spoken. Sherlock never looked up. He stared at the coffin as if he were willing it not to be true. Molly remembered that feeling all too well. She wrenched her hand out of his tight grip and put her arms around him, he finally looked up at her. Tears streaming down his face he buried his head into her neck.

When they got back to the house he asked her if she'd take a walk with him. They ended up at the pond once again. They sat in silence for a while before he finally spoke.

"I'd like to stay for another couple of days if you don't mind. Make sure dad's going to be okay."

"Of course," She said.

"When we get back to London," He sighed "I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while. I just... I..."

"Yes, Sherlock that's fine, you're always welcome in my home." She said.

He nodded his head and smiled for the first time all day.

This man that everyone saw as some kind of a hero, some kind of a machine. She had always known the truth. The softness and the sadness behind all the pomp and bravado. When he came to her and put his head on her lap asking for her kindness, she knew. He was just like everyone else. The same fears, the same worries. Even the same desires as it turns out.

He reached over and put his arm around her pulling her into his chest then kissed her forehead. "Molly Hooper, you are a wonder, did you know that?"

She smiled.

They sat in very comfortable silence for several minutes.

"You punched John." Molly said laughing.

Sherlock chuckled. "Yes, I did. Though it wasn't the first time."

"I don't understand boys. I've never had urge to punch one of my girlfriends."

"You slapped me...thrice."

"Yes, well you were being an idiot!"

"I didn't say I didn't deserve it." He hugged her tighter to his side.

Several more minutes passed. "I don't have the right to ask anything more of you. But I'd like a chance. I'd like to try. I don't know if- well if I were in your place I'd tell me to fuck off."

Molly had kept her head on his chest never looking up. He knew, they both knew what her answer would be. No real point in pretending. Molly had given her heart to Sherlock Holmes six years before. If he was willing to give her his now, she'd take it and she'd never let it go.

She turned and looked up at him with tears in her eyes, some happy, some sad. "Of all the things you've asked of me Sherlock, this one I'll gladly do."

* * *

_There you go! Hope you enjoyed it! _

_So there's a very real possibility for a follow up... Who'd like to see this two come back and spend a week at Molly's flat? I blame MrsMCrieff for the suggestion of a follow up (although I was pondering it... a bit.)_

_I'm thinking something a bit less sad and a bit more on the smutty side... I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks for reading._


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